One thing's for sure - compared to setting up this blog, retraining retired racehorses is a doddle ! Easy-peasy. I'm late with this second episode of Ex-racehorse Life because I've been battling techno-gremlins. ( The ones that won't let you click on anything you want, and take you round in circles instead. Grrr!) I wanted to post some pictures of my Terrible Trio of ex-racers, but the combined efforts of myself, my best mate, a web designer and a savvy techno-wizz 10-year-old kid could not figure out how to do it. So, the photos will have to wait.
Instead, I'll boast about Miraed's triumph of an outing yeterday. ( Miraed is my 9-year-old ex-racer mare by Project Manager. She's AKA Mighty Miraed, Miraed the Merciless, or Wicked Witch Miraed, depending on the mood she's been in that day. She can be very hormonal. And very stroppy.) So, on Sunday we took her to a dressage schooling clinic, held by the Ex-racers Club, for her first outing since her day's drag-hunting in January.
Miraed has now had three years of patience-wearing re-schooling, with little to show for it. It's not that she has any ex-racehorse hang-ups any more. Or that she doesn't understand what she is being asked to do. She understands perfectly! She knows very well how to self-collect, strike off on the correct leg, and come down nicely over the bit with good self-carriage. But knowing it ain't doing it, in Miraed's case - at least, not for very long. Too much like hard work. Makes the muscles ache... So, big no-no's and donwannas.
So yesterday, she started off reluctant as ever, gracelessly humouring us for a little while. Then she got fed up with that, and returned to her favoured mode of dashing round with her head up like a runaway camel. But then, quite suddenly after 20 minutes or so ( just as the instructor was starting to have a crisis of confidence) - wonder of wonders ! - she gave in ! She started to do it all beautifully . Success at last !
Having long ago learned to quit while you're ahead when retraining ex-racehorses ( because you're unlikely to stay ahead long, so don't push your luck !) - we bowed out of the school shortly afterwards. Then, as a complete change, we let Miraed have a go at the little cross-country track. And - Miraed the Marvellous flew round it like an old pro ( though she'd never seen it before ). She just loved it. I was thrilled.
I''m just hoping that , after all my patient ( and impatient) struggles, I can have a similar breakthrough with my I.T systems !
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 20, 2008
HAPPY BIRTHDAY !
Big birthday celebrations today - and not just for this new blog about retraining and rehabilitating ex-racehorses. I specially waited to start on this date, 20th March, because it's my Grandad's birthday. Well - would have been. He was born in 1892, so he'd be 116 today. ( And if he were still around, he'd be straight out to the stables to give our ex-racers a pat, and then off down the bookies...) He did make his century, though - got the telegramme from the Queen and all. ( What a party that was !) Anyway - it's all Gran's fault that I'm so totally besotted with horses, and with racehorses and retired racehorses in particular.
My Gran was a great horseracing man. (And a great - but hopeless! - gambling man.) He was keeping lookout for street-corner bookmakers in the 1930's, when off-course betting was illegal in the UK. ( Well, times were hard ...) He would get betting tips in his dreams ( some good ones, too !,) and when he was in his nineties he was still trundling off to the bookies' every day, pension money in hand ( but not for long.) Yet, much as he loved the gambling, he loved the horses themselves far more.
I grew up hearing his tales of the great champion racehorses of his heyday in the 30's - Golden Miller and Hyperion, Reynoldstown and Seabiscuit. . One of my earliest frequent memories is of toddler-me standing on a chair beside Gran as he leaned over the big polished radiogram, the pages of 'Sporting Life' spread wide across the top. As the racing results of the day came in, he'd mark them off on the pages with a stubby pencil. I soon got to learn the names of winners. Then - the best bit - Gran would draw pictures of horses for me all over the newspaper.
So there was little hope for me, really - I was hooked on racehorses very young. I began riding at 2 years of age, and the rot quickly set in. I got my first ex-racer when I was 12, and have been loving, learning and living with them ever since. Every one of them has been different, an individual personality with his/her own story to tell, and lessons to teach me.
My poor Grandad never actually owned so much as a donkey in all his life, much less a racehorse. But I now have 3 ex-racers: Dara, Miraed, and Big H. ( You'll be meeting them later if you stick around.) Gran would be thrilled. I get involved in rehoming and reschooling other ex-racehorses, too. And every time I even think about maybe adopting another one, I can hear my naughty Gran chuckling up on his cloud and urging me on. ( Who cares about the bank manager ?)
So, Happy Birthday, Gran ! Thanks for all you have taught me, the wonderful, ups-and-downs-laughs-and-tears life it's brought me, and all the amazing ex-racehorses I've had the privilege to meet through it.
Now I'm going to share it all in this blog.
My Gran was a great horseracing man. (And a great - but hopeless! - gambling man.) He was keeping lookout for street-corner bookmakers in the 1930's, when off-course betting was illegal in the UK. ( Well, times were hard ...) He would get betting tips in his dreams ( some good ones, too !,) and when he was in his nineties he was still trundling off to the bookies' every day, pension money in hand ( but not for long.) Yet, much as he loved the gambling, he loved the horses themselves far more.
I grew up hearing his tales of the great champion racehorses of his heyday in the 30's - Golden Miller and Hyperion, Reynoldstown and Seabiscuit. . One of my earliest frequent memories is of toddler-me standing on a chair beside Gran as he leaned over the big polished radiogram, the pages of 'Sporting Life' spread wide across the top. As the racing results of the day came in, he'd mark them off on the pages with a stubby pencil. I soon got to learn the names of winners. Then - the best bit - Gran would draw pictures of horses for me all over the newspaper.
So there was little hope for me, really - I was hooked on racehorses very young. I began riding at 2 years of age, and the rot quickly set in. I got my first ex-racer when I was 12, and have been loving, learning and living with them ever since. Every one of them has been different, an individual personality with his/her own story to tell, and lessons to teach me.
My poor Grandad never actually owned so much as a donkey in all his life, much less a racehorse. But I now have 3 ex-racers: Dara, Miraed, and Big H. ( You'll be meeting them later if you stick around.) Gran would be thrilled. I get involved in rehoming and reschooling other ex-racehorses, too. And every time I even think about maybe adopting another one, I can hear my naughty Gran chuckling up on his cloud and urging me on. ( Who cares about the bank manager ?)
So, Happy Birthday, Gran ! Thanks for all you have taught me, the wonderful, ups-and-downs-laughs-and-tears life it's brought me, and all the amazing ex-racehorses I've had the privilege to meet through it.
Now I'm going to share it all in this blog.
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